


A Chance to Live: Phantom Christmas Special

by Emotionalmotionsicknessxx



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Continuation of my other fic, F/M, It is canon that the phantom of the opera loves Christmas and no one can tell me otherwise, Kind of makes sense if you haven't read my other fic, POTO Advent Calendar, Phantom holiday challenge, Phantomsholidaychallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionalmotionsicknessxx/pseuds/Emotionalmotionsicknessxx
Summary: Publishing this separately -I'm hard at work at a sequel toA Chance to Live! I'm about a third of the way through, and this Christmas scene demanded to be released before the holiday, so please enjoy!We meet the family 8 years after the events of the first story. Gustav is 20, and rebellious. We see a peek at what he's been up to, but you'll have to wait for the whole thing to find out what happened! Christine and Erik are living a relatively peaceful existence with their now 8 year old, Adele.I consider it ABSOLUTELY CANON that Erik LOVES Christmas and he terrorizes his entire family with his devotion to Christmas tackiness. I need fan art of the Phantom in a Christmas sweater ASAP!Enjoy! New story coming in the new year - subscribe to my author page to be notified when it's posted!
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	A Chance to Live: Phantom Christmas Special

December 6, 1913

Capri, Italy

“So…what’s going on?” Erik asked, examining the scissors, a down pillow, and half a yard of white fabric lying on the living room floor. Christine, hands on her hips, stared down at it.

“It’s going to be a sheep.”

“Sheep have feathers?” He asked, smiling. He hid his laugh when she glared.

“How else would it be fuzzy?” She asked, staring. She didn’t want to destroy a good pillow, but the deadline for the Christmas Eve pageant was approaching.

The star of the show bounded into the room. “My costume!” Adele declared, skipping through the living room. She stopped, seeing the state of it.

“I’m working on it, dear.”

“Oh Papa, can’t you help her?”

Adele and Erik had witnessed Christine’s share of craft projects. For someone who could memorize an entire show in German and perform it, with choreography, she was rubbish at domestic tasks. Both father and daughter were thinking of last year’s end of year pageant, when Adele’s flower crown collapsed before the celebration even began. Her dress was a potato sack with a hole cut out. Adele and Erik shivered at the memory.

“Let’s both help. So, you’re a sheep. What can we use for the wool?”

“Cotton balls?”

“Good idea - grab your coat, let’s go get some.” Erik was happy to whisk them away from the tragic craft project.

Christine liked Christmas fine. She never really had a big Christmas, just exchanging gifts with her father, Meg, and the other ballerinas in the opera. Raoul was rarely around for Christmas, so she and Gustav usually spent a quiet night singing carols and eating cookies. In France, the society parties were requisite, but she never much cared for them or found them memorable.

In Capri, however, things changed. Their first year, pregnant with Adele, she hadn’t been expecting the intensity of an Italian Christmas. The townsfolk welcomed them into their homes all the way through December to 3 Kings Day in January, sharing recipes, traditions, and cheer. When they learned that Erik, Gustav, and Christine were musical, they were invited to even more parties, imploring a song or two out of Erik or Christine, even Gustav. Christine’s pregnancy meant the women of the island swarmed their house with dishes, not wanting to put any pressure on the mother-to-be for the season. They had never eaten so well.

She remembered when they were standing in their new home, perplexed at the idea of decorating. A piano student, done with his lesson, offered advice.

“A what?” Erik asked, not quite understanding.

“A Christmas Tree,” Geoffrey clarified. “It’s all the rage.”

Erik shrugged, still not understanding.

Christine burst out laughing when they returned, carrying a huge pine tree from the wooded area of the island. She laughed even harder when they brought it into their living room.

“Now what?” she asked, laughing. She had seen Christmas trees before, in France and New York, but none quite so…large. This one scraped the ceiling.

That first year, there was no room for an angel at the top of that enormous pine. The following year, they adjusted. One of the artisans whittled them a beautiful, handprinted angel, which Gustav swore was the exact representation of Christine, in exchange for Christine giving voice lessons to his daughter. But with all the Gustav chaos this year, they hadn’t yet gotten their Christmas tree, a fact which Adele brought up on several occasions.

The two walked slightly ahead of Christine, slightly giddy. Even with everything going on, nothing was slowing Erik or Adele’s excitement for Christmas. Adele spoke highly of Papa Noel, and Erik continued to scheme about what presents Adele would want. Christine felt herself hold back a laugh. If the opera could see him now, picking up Adele to see the Christmas displays better, pointing out the mechanics of the animatronic train.

“What?” Erik grinned at her stare.

“You’ve gone soft in your old age, monsieur phantom,” She tickled under a rib as she passed, leading Adele into the store to get what they came for. Erik winked at her, diving into the shop next door - the dress shop. Christine rolled her eyes, but hurried Adele in before she could notice.

A few moments later, Christine felt a hand graze under her own ribs.

“You spoil her,” she said, not looking up from the detergent. She could hear Erik’s low chuckle behind her. She broke her stern character to turn to him and smile.

They left with their purchase- a shocking amount of cotton balls and a candy cane for Adele. At first, Christine thought of the effect the sugar would have on her energy. On the walk home, though, the candy made her mercifully quiet, whittling down the candy methodically.

They passed the school yard, jogging Christine’s memory. “They asked if you would play piano for the pageant,” She said. “It’s on Christmas Eve.”

“Of course,” He said, making a note in his mental calendar. He already had all the Christmas standards in his repertoire. They walked, Christine on his arm, down the cold lane back to the house. The winter sunlight was welcome, but didn’t offer much for warmth, and Christine burrowed deeper into his arm. Adele was walking far ahead, so Christine was able to ask in a low voice.

“What did you get her?”

He laughed. “You’ll see. It’s up to Papa Noel, after all.”

She play-slapped his arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

“What are you asking Papa Noel for, madame?” He asked.

Christine had to think for a moment. She really didn’t need anything. “Let’s say, peace and goodwill toward men!” She quoted. Erik frowned. “I really don’t need anything. Maybe some new sheet music?”

He sighed. “But that’s so boring!”

“It’s what I would like,” she said, stubborn. Over the years, Erik had always gotten her thoughtful but lavish gifts. Last year, he made her an insanely ornate jewelry box, despite the fact that she wore little jewelry. It was gorgeous, inland with mother-of-pearl and set to play one of her favorite arias, but it sat, collecting dust, on her vanity.

“And what will I get Papa Noel himself, sir?” she asked back. Truly, she was wracking her mind. What do you get the man who can buy whatever he needs, and will invent anything that he wants? Christine went the practical route. In previous years, she bought him woolen socks. Paper. New ink. A tuning fork, which was useless to someone with perfect pitch, married to someone with perfect pitch. She couldn’t wait to have the holiday over with, if only to get over her gift-giving faux pas.

“I have everything I could possibly want,” he said, his annual line. He always meant it, too, which was infuriating on a gift-giving holiday. This year, he added, “Maybe a new lock for Gustav’s room, so we can keep him in there.”

“He would devise a way to escape,” she said, laughing. “He would pull some crazy design out to get out without breaking the lock on the outside.”

It was late afternoon when they returned, and, true to his word, Gustav was back. Christine was pasting cotton balls under Adele’s watchful eye when he came back in, windblown and breathless.

“Gustav!” Christine greeted, wiping the paste on her hands on a rag. “Come tell me this doesn’t look horrible.”

After the chaotic meeting Gustav had had, coming home to a warm, bustling house was welcome. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. The housekeeper was beginning to take out the decorations from storage under the supervision of Erik, who took his decorations very seriously. Gustav knew each year had to be more extravagant than the last, and he looked forward to whatever chaotic vision his father had this year.

“Gustav!” Adele hugged him at the waist, burying her face into his coat. She beckoned for him to bend, her hand cupped to tell a secret. She whispered loud enough that everyone in the house could hear.

“Now that you’re out of jail, tell Papa that we have to get our Christmas tree.”

Christine accidentally let out a barking laugh at the 8-year-old’s frankness. Of course, she had some basic, mostly incorrect understanding of what had happened, and no one was planning to give her any additional information. Christine was sure that the news that her big brother had been to jail had already spread around the elementary school, presumably wrapped in a larger narrative that was not even related to the truth. She stifled her laugh, winking at Gustav, who took it all in stride.

“Adele, you are QUITE right,” He said, also stage whispering to her, in on the act. “Papa MUST take us all to go get our tree. Let’s go ask.”

Erik stood in the doorway to the root cellar, where the decorations were stored. He had to wait for the performance, of course, to give his answer. Christine knew he was just waiting for Gustav to get the tree, anyway. This play was moot, but Christine stood from her craft, a rapt audience.

Adele dragged Gustav by the hand. “Papa, Gustav has something to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Well, we were talking, and, since I’m OUT OF JAIL, I wondered if we could go get our Christmas tree,” Gustav said, emphasizing Adele’s words. Christine had a fit trying to stop her laughter. Erik started to laugh too but, always the consummate professional, stifled it before Adele saw. He spoke with the gravitas of Prospero addressing his island of misfits.

“My son, who is out of jail, I absolutely hear your proposal and solemnly agree. Will you all do me the honor of joining me on this venture?”

“Let’s GO!” shouted Adele, who ran outside ahead of them without her coat. Christine grabbed it, along with her own, as they embarked on their journey.

“Ten feet, not an inch more!” Erik yelled to Gustav, who was in charge of helping Adele choose the right pine once they arrived at the forested area. There weren’t huge, Douglas firs like in New York or continental Europe, but they had several evergreen bushs-type plants to choose from.

“Found it!” rang Adele’s voice. Christine followed the sound of her voice to where she and Gustav stood in the brush.

“Gustav?” Erik said, fake gravitas back.

“I think this is the one, sir.” He said, bowing theatrically at the feet of a tall bush. “May I?”

Erik handed Gustav the axe, and for that Christine was thankful. She didn’t need a sprained back muscle ruining Erik’s favorite time of year. She took Adele’s hand and moved her well away from the axe swing.

In a few strokes, the bush was felled. Erik and Gustav each took an end to walk it back to the house; Adele also helped lift it occasionally, though she often lost interest. She was too busy practicing her line for the pageant.

“All the animals bowed their head and knew, this was the son of God,” she said. “ALL the ANIMALS BOWED their HEADS…” She said again, changing the emphasis each time. She was the only sheep to receive a line, and she wasn’t about to miss her moment. Christine was sure she herself would never forget the line, having heard it every day for the last week.

“We’ve got it!” announced Erik to the housekeeper, who had already set up the tree stand, a fidgety, metal thing to tighten around the trunk. The chef knew the drill, and mulled wine and hot cider were ready in the kitchen to warm them from their evening sojourn. Christine and Gustav stood alone in the kitchen a moment, letting the wine warm them as Erik art-directed the wreath and garland placement in the living room.

“I’m glad you were here for this,” Christine said, cup clasped between palms, warming her reddened fingers. Gustav nodded.

“This is nice. I missed it last year, so I figured…”

“Your father’s happy about it, too,” She added. From the other room, they could hear him yelling, “Not there! No, that’s crooked.” They took no motions to leave the peace of the kitchen, at least for the moment.

“He seems it,” Gustav laughed, before addressing his mother in a more serious tone. “No, I know. I’m just glad I’m out of that cell,” he said, gulping down a mouthful of wine.

Christine put an arm around him, assuring herself that he was really there, next to her. “I know,” she said. “Me too. Hopefully, that’s all over.”

“Yeah,” said Gustav, not really knowing what, exactly, he was responding to.

He finished the wine in a final, large gulp. He left his mother in the kitchen to help his father with the decorations.

The moon was high by the time Erik finally sat down at his desk, happy with the decorations. Adele was half asleep on the couch, mumbling her line: “…this WAS the son of GOD.” Christine sat next to her, stroking her thick, curly hair. Gustav sat across from them, reading. The fire was lit, and Christine was suddenly reminded of a very similar moment, years before.

In her mind, she could hear Erik’s warning from 1911: “Something is coming.”

“Christine?” Erik asked again. He was now over at the piano bench, the piano decorated with a thick garland.

She came back to the present moment. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to sing,” he said.

She walked over to the piano, the warmth of the scene quickly erasing the cold, icy grasp that memory had had on her heart. Instead, the opening notes to “O Holy Night,” played. Adele stirred as Christine and Erik sang, and by the first verse she was up and joining them. Though she was theatrical, her voice was high and sweet, and she added something to the piece rather than detracting. She leaned on Christine’s skirt as they sang. Even Gustav caught himself humming along by the end.

“Come on, Gustav!” called Adele. Like his father, Gustav was reluctant to tell his little sister, “no.” Erik moved over on the piano bench.

“Do you know…” Erik trailed off, played the opening chords of “Christmas Bells.” Gustav didn’t, but what he lacked in knowing the notes he made up for in playing by ear, four hands on the piano.

“Oh, geez, Christine.” Erik laughed. “How about…” He played the opening to some obscure Spanish Christmas opera from the 1880s.

She laughed. “What on earth…”

He sang a little, trying to jog her memory.

“No idea. I swear you’re making this up.”

Erik transitioned seamlessly into a different key. “I’m not making it up, but I bet we could. Adele?” He played some generic, Christmassy notes.

“I don’t know it!” she exclaimed.

Gustav laughed from the bench. “Sing anything!”

“Your line!” Erik and Christine shouted at the same.

Adele tilted her head, listening to her cue. “All the animals bowed their head and knew, this was the son of God,” she sang.

“Keep going!” Gustav shouted, red from laughing. He hadn’t been so silly in years, making up songs with his father at the piano. Adele paused, and Gustav filled in, and soon they were going back and forth to the tune.

“And there was a young sheep…”

“Who the babe over careful watch did KEEP…”

“And gave the child with tender CARE…”

“All of it’s wooly HAIR…”

Christine was cheering them on, making noises of affirmation at each rhyme as Erik played. Her stomach hurt from laughing.

“And then there was a gentle ASS” Gustav sang,

Adele pointing. “You can’t say that! Mother!”

Erik brought the song to an end as Christine ignored Adele’s complaint, though she wagged a finger at Gustav. Gustav crept slowly towards Adele, who was busy tugging on Christine’s skirt.

“Gotcha!” He grabbed her, tickling her as she shrieked with laughter. She broke free, running out of the room, with Gustav in hot pursuit.

Christine walked over to the piano bench and leaned on Erik, exhausted. “She’s never going to sleep tonight,” she said, mourning her own rest. Erik squeezed her around her waist, and she felt him kiss the top of her head, lingering as he so often did. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured, suddenly feeing even more tired.

“Merry Christmas.”

They sat peacefully, the only sound the fireplace crackling. The entire white living room was now covered in the deep green of pine and the glimmering red and white of ornaments. In this moment, Christine felt the sentiment Erik had expressed earlier: they had everything they needed. Especially after Gustav’s predicament, Christine was glad to have all three of her loved ones under the same roof.

Two of those loved ones shrieked past them again, Gustav shouting “Here I come!” and Adele laugh-screaming in retaliation.

Christine sat up slightly, Erik’s arm still around her. “You’re putting her to bed, Gustav,” she said, tone warning.

He ran past again. “I know!”

Christine relaxed, her motherly duties temporarily taken care of. Erik pulled his hand out from around her, shifting her weight so she could rest on him. He played, quietly, something she didn’t recognize.

“What is this?”

“Just something I’m thinking about,” he said, voice low. It was different, but warm, and Christine dozed as she listened.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, kissing his arm through his shirt. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming through his body, her own pulse radiating in her ear pressed to his arm. The song ended, and he moved into something old, something not of this time. It was like his thoughts were on display in the music he was playing, and tonight he was feeling deep nostalgia for a different place, somewhere Christine knew she had never been.

Even in eight years of marriage, she didn’t know Erik’s whole story. It still came in pieces, though she felt she had a pretty good sense. In the briefest sense, he was born disfigured, though completely healthy. From what she put together, his family had given or had sold him into the circus’s side show, where he travelled in a cage across Asia and Europe. His teenage years were spent as the head executioner for the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, though he had fled when the princess who assaulted him died. Then, he found work where he could, learning as much as he could at each place. He was cast out frequently, until a ballerina took him into the Opera Populaire one night. There, he lived in the catacombs of the opera, composing, threatening, and killing to survive. Then, when an orphaned young woman came to the opera, he dedicated his life to sculpting her in his image.

The rest, Christine would say, was history. She could barely recognize the man she had met at the Opera, and for that she was thankful. The possessive demon who had engulfed her entire personhood would be a terrible husband and father. Sometimes, she would see flashes of his old tendencies, especially when Gustav, the mirror image of the impulsive young Erik, clashed with him. Though she teased, she was glad he went “soft,” that she could raise a family with him. She yawned.

“Bed-time?” Erik asked, voice rumbling and low in her ear. She nodded, not moving. He slid the cover over the piano keys. “Well, we can’t sleep here. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

They made their way off to bed while Gustav read to Adele in her room. Christine gave him a little wave on their way past, and he winked back, the mirror of his father.

It always gave Christine a shock, seeing how similar they were. When she was raising Gustav with Raoul, the first time Erik had been presumed dead, she had searched for clues to Gustav’s true paternity in his behavior. At three, he was pulling apart every toy to see the gears rather than playing with them. By four, Christine was dragging him off the piano bench as he tried in vain to play the keys. She knew when he was born that he was Erik’s, but these clues still comforted her. Today, she didn’t need the reminders, but always welcomed it when Erik and Gustav looked over papers the same way, or their eyes lit up with a creative solution to some conundrum.

“Goodnight,” Erik said, leaning into Adele’s room. Of course, he had to give her a goodnight kiss. He didn’t hesitate to give Gustav one too, on the top of his head - her habit from his childhood.

“Goodnight,” Christine said, reaching her hand out for Erik to come out of the room. She closed the door softly behind them.

Christine dreamed peacefully, snuggly wrapped into Erik’s chest. Images of her family, the Christmas tree glowing, the fire warm floated in her heaf. In her dream she stood in her dressing gown, arms folded, staring at the fire.

“My love.” Erik’s voice was behind her, and she turned, smiling. Her face fell.

It was Raoul. With sunken eyes and clothes hanging off of him, he looked worse than he had even on his lowest days of drink. She took a step back, towards the fireplace.

“No!” She said, threatening. “You can’t hurt me anymore.” She wished it were true.

Raoul’s eyes were pleading. “Please.” He held out a letter. It was sealed in red wax, the color of blood. She turned away.

The dream shifted to a more realistic day. She was at the piano, practicing a simple piece. Erik had left her with it, something to work on while he went into town to help repair a piece of equipment at the jewelers. Adele who was younger in this dream, had gone down for her nap.

Christine was idly playing a sonata, her fingers slow, not quite responding to her mind, when there was a knock at the door.

It was a messenger - the mail had arrived. She took it, leafing through it as she closed the door behind the mail carrier. Most was for Erik, as it always was.

She froze. The signet on the letter was one she hoped to never see again. A blade of wheat, with a haloed crown above it. The de Chagney crest.

Absently, she put the rest of the mail down, holding the letter as if it was a poisonous snake. Though she knew she was very much alone, she looked around before opening it. She sat back on the piano bench, tasting the metallic tang of blood. She had bitten her lip too hard at the shock.

She opened the letter, already knowing what it said. How was that possible?

She felt the letter fly out of her hand, and she turned. Gone were the white walls of her house - instead, the white she was seeing was the blinding light of the stage. She moved, her skirts suddenly much thicker and heavier. She was standing on stage, dressed as though she was giving the aria of Hannibal, her debut. In her dream mind, though, she knew it was a trap. She could see Raoul smiling from the box. She tried to warn him, but too late - he sunk in his chair, crying out for her to go.

She looked frantically for any aid. Still she sang, her skirts feeling heavier and heavier.

“Erik!” She called between rests of the song, the music getting louder and louder. She heard him call back.

“Christine! Run!”

She turned to the side of the stage, where she heard his voice. Instead, it was Gustav, being pursued by uniformed men. It was her turn to cry out again, to tell him to turn around, to duck - a shot rang out, but not from the men. She looked down to see her own shaking hands drop the gun as Gustav fell.

She woke up with a hard jolt, gasping so loud that it woke Erik.

“Gustav!”

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Erik said, automatically pulling her down from her seated position and holding her hard. “He’s in the next room.”

It had been months since her last nightmare. Erik’s stomach churned. Why weren’t these going away? He hated seeing her so troubled, so restless. He felt her breathing get more regular, though it still came fast and hard. He waited a moment more, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, some in a language he knew she didn’t understand.

When her breathing became even enough for her to speak, Erik prompted her. “What was it?”

There were a few major archetypes to Christine’s nightmares, which they both knew. This nightmare, however, was new - a fact that Erik didn’t know. Christine took a moment before sharing.

When they moved to Italy, they were still figuring out their relationship. Christine was mourning Raoul, recovering from a rough term of pregnancy, and trying to make sure her son was happy and safe. Now, she recalled a conversation they’d had on the boat to Italy. Christine had been on the deck, trying not to be sick.

“Are you alright?” Erik asked, hand on her back.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Erik sighed and left her alone on the deck. She didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon.

She found him later in their cabin before dinner. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He took a moment before speaking. “Christine…”

She took a seat on a nearby chair, disturbed by his somber tone.

“When I asked if you wanted to…” He chose his words carefully. “When you chose to make a life with me, I knew it was going to be difficult. We have so much to undo, so much to still learn about each other.” He was still shaken from their walk down memory lane at the opera house, having remembered all the terrible things he did to a woman he had professed to love.

Christine’s brow furrowed slightly, listening. What was making him so upset?

“If we’re going to do this-“

“If?” She had to interject. Wasn’t she on a ship with him? Was that enough?

“Then I just ask that we be honest with each other.”

She was perplexed. “Does this have something to do with our conversation on the deck?”

“Christine, you’re not fine. But you keep lying and saying you are.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Erik walked over to her, a little softer around the eyes.

“I love you, and I haven’t always been honest with you. At all.” He chose not to think about the massive list of lies he had told her. “I need to change that. But I know you tell little lies, maybe even to yourself, to get through.” He knelt at her feet, voice low. “I want to hear it. Everything. All your anxieties and concerns. Little ailments and big ones.” He considered her last few months, trapped in the palace. “I know _they_ didn’t want you to complain, but I do.” He smiled wickedly.

“Do you promise not to get mad?”

He put a hand on his chest, an oath. “I promise. So, tell me. How are you doing?”

She sighed. “I’m so, so worried, to be honest.”

That night, and every night since, they talked, no secrets between them. And Erik never got mad, even though he was often frustrated when he couldn’t fix a problem. These nightmares especially bothered him. He wondered if he could invent something so he could fight this nightmare Raoul, one on one.

Christine now took a breath. She knew she was going to lie, for the first time in a very long time.

“Just the usual. Raoul.” Her voice broke at his name. “I couldn’t find you, just Raoul. Gustav in danger.” She chose the general truth of the dream. She had dreamed of Gustav being in danger before, but never like this, never so specific.

“I’m here now,” Erik murmured into her hair, holding her to his chest. Christine was grateful for this so that he couldn’t see her shame about lying. He wouldn’t know about the letter, she had vowed to herself. And he didn’t, and wouldn’t. No one would.

The next few days were a whirlwind of Christmas preparations. Adele was busy preparing for her role, not speaking to anyone to “preserve her voice.” It was a welcome relief, though she often broke her silence to remind people about her sacrifice. Erik was busy working on some contraption or another, while Gustav chafed at his self-imposed house arrest. The house bustled with visitors, students, and socialists, though the last group was considerably less cheerful.

It was one of these days when one of the grandmothers from the village rang the doorbell. The kitchen was already full of treats and parts of meals delivered from townspeople, and this, Christine assumed, would be no different.

She opened the wrapped box on the table, under the watchful eye of the nonna. It was not a fruitcake, but rather a garment of some kind. She held it up, confused for a moment at the mass of red yarn.

“It’s a… _maglione_ ” She explained. “ _Per_ _Natale_.”

It was intricate, a large, thick red sweater with eyelets and cabled knit throughout. There were bits of white colorwork to suggest snow. It was, in Christine’s aristocratic opinion, gauche. Still, she smiled and thanked her. She gave her a tray of the cookies she used to make with her father for St. Lucia day, now made with Gustav and Adele’s help. It was the nonna’s turn to be a little confused, but she also acted graciously before wishing them a Happy Christmas.

Erik poked his head in at the commotion. Immediately, he spotted the gift.

“What is that, Nonna?” He asked, after greeting and kissing her as custom dictated. He pulled up the sweater as Christine explained.

“She has knitted a sweater for us,” Christine said, hoping Erik wouldn’t let on how odd and blindingly bold it was.

“For you!” the grandmother clarified to Erik. The old loved that he always came over if they needed anything delivered or fixed; there had been a fair collection of grannies at their wedding. Christine breathed a sigh of relief as he graciously accepted.

“Oh, its perfect, thank you. And look at the detail!” He gushed in perfect Italian, making the grandmother blush. Then, a creeping realization came over Christine as he threw off his vest-coat and pulled on the sweater. He wasn’t acting gracious…he _was_. Because he _loved the sweater._

He looked very much like the candy cane Adele was eating in bright red and white, the sweater very thick, and very wooly. Pieces of fuzz flew off of it as he adjusted it.

“Look at that!” He yelled, thrilled. Christine’s face was frozen. She was thankful Gustav was in another room - if she saw his expression, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. The granny applauded.

“Ah, you look so sharp. But you could pull off anything.”

“Oh, Nonna, stop it,” He retorted. Christine had had her share of nightmares, but now she worried she was trapped in one. She stared at a crack in the floor, hyper focused with a smile plastered on her face to keep from bursting out into giggles.

Unfortunately for her, that was when Gustav entered.

“Hey, where is my- What is THAT?” he said, stopped dead in his tracks. “Mama, what is dad WEAR-”

Christine caught his eye, unblinking. She hoped her stare was transmitting, “Don’t say anything; she’s still here.”

“Oh, uhhh…” Gustav bit his lips to keep from laughing, but a giggle came out. Christine clasped her hand over her own mouth to stop herself from following suit. Erik was still in a conversation with the grandmother, examining the fine detail. Christine knew this had to end before she exploded.

“Ah, Gustav, I need your help in the…”

“Living room?”

Tthe living room, right. Can you…help me…” Another giggle. “Please excuse us.” They practically ran into the living room, where they exploded in a fit of laughter that could still clearly be heard from the kitchen. Erik pretended not to notice.

The nonna frowned. “You know, my daughter cooks the best fish for the Christmas eve. She’s still single, you know.”

“Ah, Nonna, you know me...settled down,” He said, walking her to the door. Another peal of laughter rang out.

“You know, on second thought…where does she live?” He joked, loud enough for them to hear. They settled down, but they were still gasping for breath.

Erik walked into the living room after the grandmother had left, still in the sweater. It was enough to set off another set of laughs. Gustav was bent over; Christine had tears streaming down her face. When one stopped, the other started again. Erik just stood there in all his candy cane glory, which only served to set them off further. Finally, their laughter slowed.

“Are you done?”

Christine wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Erik, but that’s the ugliest thing I’ve-” She started laughing again. “I’ve ever seen.”

“You look like a rash,” Gustav said. “A tall, Christmas-themed rash.”

Erik had his hands on his hips, his face stern, which only drove Gustav’s point home. “Well, _I_ think it looks good.”

Gustav nearly started laughing again, but he stopped himself. “That’s…” he hiccupped. “That’s your opinion, dad, and you’re entitled to it.”

Christine followed up. “I’m glad you like it, dear. Just please don’t wear it out of the house.”

-

The family walked down the hill, shivering in the cold night, to the schoolhouse for the Christmas Eve pageant. Erik walked ahead of them, proudly sporting the sweater under his overcoat. Christine and Gustav angrily stomped behind him. He turned around.

“It’s Christmas, guys. Let’s be festive!” He moved his coat so more of the sweater was showing. “Why aren’t you walking with me?”

Christine shook her head. “We don’t want to be associated with the man in the candy cane sweater,” she said, as she’d dubbed the sweater. It was a frequent presence in the house, though he had yet to wear it in public. Tonight, though, he was playing piano for the pageant, and had thought it suitable.

“I think you two are just jealous you don’t have Christmas sweaters like mine,” he retorted, continuing his jaunty stroll. Christine and Gustav, as if to counteract Erik’s gaudy showmanship, had worn simple clothes for the pageant. Gustav’s simple shirt and dress pants were also a symbol of solidarity with the working class, as he explained to his parents on the walk.

“Well, I’m showing solidarity with Papa Noel,” retorted Erik, determined to not let his companions sour the mood.

Adele was already there, preparing feverishly for her role. Christine hoped the glue on her costume held as they took their seats in the schoolhouse. All the seats in the middle of the room surrounding the wood fireplace were already taken by chilly parents. Gustav and Christine opted for seats towards the back. “Let’s put a little distance between the normal Daaes and ‘Papa Noel’ over here,” muttered Gustav, and Christine let out a snort that startled a few fellow parents. Erik settled himself at the piano, sweater now on full display.

Ms. Brooks said a short introduction, and the piano signaled the beginning of the pageant. Slowly, children walked on, telling the story of the nativity. Mary was considerably taller than her Joseph, which Gustav pointed out under his breath. The couple made their way to the manger, and in walked the animals.

The audience let out a collective coo at the young animals, all very small and very cute. Christine found herself craning to see Adele, her costume clearly marking her as a sheep.

“Good show, mama,” Gustav whispered. “That’s definitely a sheep.”

The pageant was silent, for a moment. Mary repeated her line, bent over the doll playing baby Jesus.

“Oh no,” Gustav said, Christine coming to the same realization. It was Adele’s line. Her face told it all: she had gone blank. Erik sat helpless at the piano, only able to repeat the measure of music so many times.

“Should I say the line?” Gustav joked. Christine swatted at him before watching little Adele dash back behind the stage. Christine stood and pushed past Gustav, glad they were near the back. She left through the front of the schoolhouse and headed to the door in the back, where the students had entered for the performance. There, sitting on the back steps, was Adele, sobbing.

“My dear!” Christine cried from the bottom of the steps. Adele cried louder. Christine ran up to her, throwing her arms around her.

“Oh mama, it’s all over. I ruined everything.”

She shushed her, crushing her crackling costume to her bodice. Cotton balls collected at their feet, breaking off of the fabric. Christine pushed Adele’s curls from her face. She let her wear herself out. When Adele finally went quiet, Christine spoke.

“Everything is going to be ok, Adele. No one noticed-”

“Everyone noticed! I’ll never be able to show my face.”

“You know, I wasn’t always the greatest performer,” Christine said, changing the subject.

This shocked Adele. “But you’re…you…you were the leading lady, the prima donna…” Adele was confused. Christine didn’t speak of her career often, but Erik made sure Adele knew how talented her mother was.

“Yes, I know,” Christine nodded. “But I didn’t even like performing when I first started. I could NEVER do what you did tonight, getting on that stage. I always stayed in the back.”

“What changed?”

“Well…” Christine edited quickly. “Your father helped me, a lot. And I practiced, and then I got more confident as time went on. It took a lot of patience, though.”

“But I messed it all up,”

“But next time, you’ll know what it feels like to look out onto a sea of people, and you’ll be more comfortable.”

That seemed to brighten Adele’s spirits a bit. “Really?”

“Really.” Christine smiled. “And, you looked really good up there. Everyone’s heads turned when you walked on stage.”

“Oh!” Adele’s tears ceased.

“Feeling better?” Christine asked, wiping the last tears from her cheeks. Adele nodded, burrowing into her mother, wiping her nose a bit on Christine’s velvet dress. This time, Christine didn’t mind.

From Christine’s chest, Adele’s little voice whimpered out. “I just want to be like you. I want to be pretty and talented…” She whined a little, extending the words.

Christine took the odd compliment. “If you want to, you can,” Christine said. “Or you can be whatever you want to be, my love. If you don’t like the stage, you can do something else.” She made a mental note to speak to Erik. They were such a musical family; it was easy to forget that they were accidentally sending the message that their children had to follow in their footsteps.

Applause could be heard from the other side of the door. Christine turned down to Adele’s head beneath her. “Do you want to go back in?” she asked.

Adele shook her head dramatically. “I don’t think I can face the public tonight. Can we just go home?”

Christine laughed. “Yes. Let’s see if we can grab your brother on the way.”

They walked along the side of the schoolhouse, catching Gustav’s eye in the window. People were milling about, not yet leaving as they waited for their children to change out of their costumes. Christine motioned that they were leaving, and Gustav motioned back that he was stuck with Erik, who was in a conversation with several other parents. Christine could see the sweater in a sea of grey coats. She nodded, and led Adele home on the cold road.

Erik and Gustav followed home well after. Christine intercepted them at the door.

“We just took a long bath, and had a few of the cookies, and now we’re in the living room,” she said quietly and quickly. “Do not mention the p-a-g-e-a-n-t at all tonight.” Erik nodded solemnly, but Gustav was already passing his mother.

“Gustav, I mean it,” she said harder.

Gustav shrugged, though she had intercepted his plan to mock his sister thoroughly. “Sure.”

“Got a lot of complements on the sweater!” Erik called after him. Gustav’s laugh could be heard from the living room.

“How are you?” Erik asked Christine, kissing her in greeting. She put a tentative hand on the sweater, her sworn enemy.

“Good. We had a nice chat. I think I forgot how much pressure we put on them, especially Adele, with the performing.”

Erik’s brown furrowed. “But she wanted to, right?”

“Yes, but,” she said, thinking back to her earlier conversation with Adele. “She put too much pressure on herself to be perfect.”

Erik grinned momentarily. “I wonder where she got that from.”

Christine swatted at the sweater. “Exactly. She said she wants to be ‘just like me,’ which, to her, means doing everything perfectly. I wonder who’s been telling her I’m perfect?” She grinned up at Erik - it _was_ flattering.

“But you are –“ He saw Christine give him a hard look, interrupting his compliment. “Ok, understood,” he said. From the entryway, they could see Gustav pulling out the box of Christmas stories.

“So, how did you leave it?” asked Erik as they slowly walked to the living room.

“If she wants to, she should try again. Build up her confidence. But, if she doesn’t like performing, she can do something else.” They both had to laugh at that - in the living room, Adele was standing on the couch, in a full pose, ready for her role as the ghost of Christmas future _and_ Tiny Tim _and_ whatever minor parts her other family members were doing wrong.

“Papa! Let’s read ‘Christmas Carol,’” she said, ready for her spotlight in the living room.

“I don’t know if Ebenezer Scrooge wore Christmas sweaters,” Gustav said, chiding. “Might be inaccurate.”

“I think Ebenezer would love a Christmas sweater,” said Erik, unbothered by the gibe. “Adele, will you do the honors?”

Still pink from her bath, she rose, solemnly, to begin. The adults were pretty much off-book for this performance, so she read from the book itself.

“Marley was dead to begin with…” she started. Christine settled next to Erik on the sofa for the time being, knowing Adele would soon move one of them to their proper stage blocking.

Later that evening, when the fire had burned low and the children had gone off to their rooms, Christine dozed on the sofa next to Erik. She knew she had to get up, to change out of her clothes, but she was too comfortable. Besides, she now feared the nightmares. The letter that haunted her dreams, that caused her to lie to Erik. She shifted slightly at the thought, and he stirred.

“Do you want your present now, Mrs. Daae?” He asked, kissing the top of her head. She turned, surprised. Usually, they exchanged presents with the children on the day, Erik always going over the top.

“If you want,” she said, still confused. He gave another kiss to the top of her head before moving off of the couch. She followed him with her eyes as he sat at the piano.

“Do you want to come join me?” he asked, and she stood, still hesitant.

He placed his hands over the keys, and she sat next to him. She half expected some contraption, some opulent gift, to pop out of the piano, but it didn’t. Instead, he began to play, quieter than usual.

It wasn’t an operatic melody, or a Christmas song. He had no sheet music in front of him - he was playing from memory, which was not unusual. She recognized it as part of the song she had heard him toying with earlier that month.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and she did. “Tell me…what do you hear?”

It was intricate, a mass of notes. If it was written, Christine was sure, it would be a tangled mess. However, in practice, it was perfect, everything falling where it needed to. It was fast, but not rushing. It was high and soaring.

She frowned in connection. “Is it…” Clearly, Erik had written it. It had his touch, unmatched by any other composer. She heard parts, though, that made her turn her head. “Is it me?” As she asked the question, she knew it sounded wild, but that was the answer her mind jumped to before she had understood it fully. He nodded, slightly relieved she could hear it too.

“Yes,” the music turned, low and dark.

“And you,” she filled in. He smiled. The music swelled, grew dark and sad. Christine’s heart broke for the song. She could practically see the melody and the dark harmony divorcing, separating. It was their story, in music. A kind of music she had never heard before.

“It’s us…it’s our story?” she breathed, not wanting to interrupt. He nodded, his eyes closed now. The music swelled, happier. A new melody. A staccato overture.

“Gustav,” she whispered, his theme overlaying, supporting the two. Finally, a tinkling song, soaring above the others. Adele.

Christine leaned on her elbows, hand covering her mouth. Finally, the song ended. They sat, silent.

Self-conscious, Erik interrupted the silence. “I know you said you wanted sheet music, but-“

“Oh Erik,” she said, tears in her eyes. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

She cut his self-conscious apology in half, and he was caught off guard. “Oh, thank you.” He stammered. Words failed him when music hadn’t.

Christine leaned on his shoulder, closing her eyes, capturing the moment. “I love you too,” She said, finishing the sentiment he had said in his song.

The next morning was Christmas day, and the couple was awoken by their youngest, who had opted to jump on Erik to wake them.

“Wake up wake up!” She cried as she toppled between them. “Papa Noel came!”

Erik groaned slightly, and Christine sat up, peering at the barely risen sun.

“What time is it?” Erik asked, grumbling and grabbing his pocket-watch. 7:30.

“She let us sleep in this year,” Christine said under her breath to Erik.

He smiled, sitting up. “Alright! Let’s go!”

On the way down the hall to the living room, Adele doubled-back to Gustav’s room, having already once tried to rouse him. Christine felt a pang of sympathy for him as he stumbled out, Adele pulling him.

“Merry Christmas,” Christine cheered. Gustav glared at the now brightening light of the living room, sun pouring in from the sea.

They exchanged gifts over Christmas cookies and cakes from their neighbors, a teapot on the center coffee table making frequent rounds. Adele’s excitement was infectious, though, and they didn’t need much caffeine to get through the morning.

Gustav got his mother the sheet music she asked for, some new operas from the mainland he had to special order. For his father, a new wristwatch he had crafted himself in the dark that not only showed the time, but the date. It even illuminated in the dark.

Erik was touched. “No one wears pocket watches anymore,” he said, brandishing his own timepiece on his wrist.

For Gustav, Christine had special-ordered some new shirts. The shirt she had attempted to make was lying somewhere in the back of her closet, thrown away in frustration with an armhole and neck hole seamed shut. Erik got him a leather-bound journal, which he’d tanned last summer with help from the bookbinder.

“It’s time you had a place for your own ideas,” Erik said. “Maybe you’ll write your own manifesto.”

Gustav felt the leather cover lovingly. “Thank you.”

Adele was screaming - she had gotten to the most impressive of Erik’s several gifts to her under the guise of Santa, including a doll and a small violin. This one, though, was marked from him and Christine. She held up the dress that had been displayed the shop window. The sleeves were covered in ruffles, the dark green velvet shining in the firelight.

“A dress!” Still holding it, she ran at Erik, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you. And thank you mama.”

Christine was hesitant to share credit, but still said, “Merry Christmas,” and hugged her in kind.

“Oh Mama…you didn’t.” Gustav was staring at Erik’s present from Christine. He was holding up a slightly lumpy garment, a deep emerald green with flecks of yellow. It had no cables or eyelets, and it was a little misshapen.

Christine laughed shyly. “I figured, if you had to wear a Christmas sweater, it should be in a flattering color at least.” She had spent the last two weeks stabbing at yarn with the local grandmothers, learning the basic stitches to make the pieces of a proper Christmas sweater. The bright red sweater was in her mind, motivating her.

Thankfully, he beamed at it. “You made this!?” He thought back to the shirt debacle and all her other sewing projects gone awry.

“I had a little help sewing it together from the ladies,” she admitted. From here, she could see they did their best with what she created. He immediately pulled it on, although it threatened not to fit over his head. Gustav covered his smile with his hand as he leaned forward on his elbows.

“It fits! Thank you, I love it,” he said, smiling. He seemed genuine, and Christine exhaled her anxiety. The emerald green was much more suiting to his style.

“Mama, I want a sweater,” Adele said, eyeing it with envy.

She laugh-sighed. “Let me recover from this one.”

With the presents unwrapped, the family sat in the living room, coming down from the sugar high that had from eating cookies and cake for breakfast. Every so often, Erik made a comment about his sweater.

“I love this so much.”

“It’s so soft.”

“The color…good choice.”

“I’m glad now I have TWO sweaters.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever owned a sweater before. I love them.”

That night, they welcomed several guests, as well as Gustav’s friends, to their large dining room for Christmas dinner. It was a mix of Italian traditions, Christine’s Swedish desserts, French influences, and a few carry-overs from their time in New York.

“I hope you all take home some of this,” Christine laughed as she sat at the end of the table, far from Erik and Gustav. Down the table, Erik was trapped in a conversation on political theory with Gustav’s friend - one of the “partners in crime,” as Erik referred to them. She sent him a sympathetic look from her side, which consisted of the townspeople and music students that they tutored. Adele stood, as if to make a toast. Everyone watched the child with a mix of interest and humor. She couldn’t see everyone from the floor, so she climbed up on her chair in her stocking feet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming to our feast. May I wish you all a Merry Christmas. Mama says I need to practice speaking in front of an audience.” Christine gave a look to the table in mock-apology, mouthing, “Sorry!”

“So, I would like to again try my part from last night’s pageant.” She cleared her throat. “Imagine, if you will, that I am a sheep.” She paused, as if soaking in the feeling of everyone’s eyes on her. “All the animals bowed their head and knew, this was the son of God.”

There was a pause, most not knowing if there was more. It seemed like there should have been, to warrant this performance. Christine broke the silence with applause.

“Brava!” she said, nodding to Adele, who bowed to everyone’s applause.

That night, Christine slept soundly, heart full. When she woke the next morning, though, she had the feeling that someone had just said something, but she hadn’t registered it. Then, she remembered her dream from the night.

This time, it was more developed. The warning remained the same, but this time she was home, holding Adele to her chest. She couldn’t find Gustav – where was Gustav? She tried to open her mouth, to call him, but she couldn’t speak. Erik was no where to be found, but the warning was the same.

“Something’s coming.”


End file.
